


Mad Enough to Stay

by MerHums



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Anniversary, Bottom Mycroft, Domestic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Past Relationship(s), Top Greg Lestrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 08:11:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6276451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerHums/pseuds/MerHums
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Mycroft ruined their anniversary plans, he didn't expect the night to end up this way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mad Enough to Stay

“Not now Mycroft.” Greg’s voice was icy. Mycroft looked in from the doorway at the man lying on the bed, arms crossed, facing away from him. He looked angry, posture stiff and unyielding. “Maybe it would be best if you went to the guest room for tonight.” 

Mycroft hesitated. He knew he'd broken their anniversary plans, but Greg knew the nature of his work. "Gregory..."

“No. One day a year, My. One day,” Greg replied. 

"There was a crisis," he said weakly. 

“There is always a crisis,” Greg replied, sitting up and putting his head in his hands. “Dammit, Mycroft.” 

Mycroft wished he could tell him he'd stopped a war. One that would have cost many, many lives. But suddenly those lives saved seemed like nothing compared to the hurt in his lover's eyes. Three years together and that look never failed to go straight through him. If his heart had ever been truly ice, Greg had been a blowtorch. 

"I will go to the other room," he said quietly, stiffly, wondering if this was the straw that would finally make Greg leave him, like the others before. There was a reason he'd had few close relationships. So far, Greg was the longest. The shortest had been only three days. 

Mycroft left and Greg rubbed his eyes. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand Mycroft was busy. It was just...hard not to get angry at all the late nights and early mornings. At the locked office door, and at dinners that grew cold on the table while he waited up. Greg’s schedule could be hectic too, but Greg didn’t have the entirety of Britain resting on his shoulders. Greg sighed, and went to move out of bed. It was cold in the house, and he didn’t feel like going downstairs to fetch an extra blanket from the linen closet. His thermals would have to do. He walked over to the closet, pulling the string for the light. The small room flooded with light as he stepped in, rummaging in his drawers, searching out the warm pajamas. He cursed, unable to find them and turned to My’s dresser. Maybe they had gotten mixed in with the laundry and hadn’t been sorted out. Greg pulled open the bottom drawer, and rummaged through. His fingers hit the bottom with a hollow thud, and he paused, curious. He tapped the base again, and the noise repeated, as it was hollow. It really wouldn’t do to snoop. Greg glanced up guiltily and shrugged. What was one more thing to fight over?

His fingers moved around the outer edge of the drawer before finding a catch, releasing it and lifting the false bottom. A medium sized black box sat inside, lid askew. Greg pulled it out, sinking to his knees to examine the contents. Mostly pictures and scraps of paper, the box was full. There were a few odds and ends, a single white glove, a dried daisy. Greg furrowed his brow, lifting a picture at random. Mycroft was smiling, arm thrown around the shoulder of another man. He looked young, full of laughter. Perhaps, university age, with none of the stress lines on his face Greg had grown used to. The other man in the picture had his lips pressed to Mycroft’s cheek, frizzy hair caught by the wind. Greg set the picture back in the box, and closed the lid. Mycroft had collected...mementos. He had never spoken about any other relationships though. Greg stood, clutching the box in his arms. It would be better to ask.

Greg left the closet, pulling the light on the way out. He padded down the hall to the spare room. He raised his hand to knock and paused. What if Mycroft didn’t want to talk?

Mycroft had stripped down to pants and vest, suit tossed at the chair, for once not even folded. He'd crawled into the middle of the cold bed, not blaming Greg one bit for his anger. He'd closed his eyes, though sleep was far away. Already he was mentally calculating what it would take to separate his life from Greg's. The man had stuck with him, but someone could only take so much, after all. 

So he was surprised at the knock on the door. He sat up, bracing himself for the worst. "Come in."

“My? Can we talk?” Greg pushed the door open, coming over to sit on the edge of the bed. 

Mycroft couldn't look at him, not if this was the last time. He wrapped his arms around his knees, feeling small. Sentiment was such a dangerous thing. "Are you planning on moving out?"

“Oh, Mycroft, no. Why would you think that?” Greg asked. “I...do you want me to?”

Mycroft shook his head. "No. Not at all. But I continually put other things in front of you. You deserve someone who can give you their full attention. Who doesn't miss anniversaries and birthdays and evenings at home. Someone who can share their day with you." He squeezed his hands to try to and keep in control. "If you wish to leave I will understand and I won't stop you."

“God My, no. This was just one fight. And it was more just me being angry when I shouldn’t be. You have a very important job, and I understand that, but I will get frustrated sometimes.” Greg replied, letting a hand settle on Mycroft’s shoulder, squeezing softly. “I’m not the most patient or mellow person. But, I wouldn’t leave you simply because you don’t make it home for dinner every night. There is always another day to celebrate. Mycroft, look at me? Please?”

Slowly, Mycroft raised his head, looking at Greg in the dim light from the hall. "I can't promise this won't ever happen again." There was love in his eyes that made his heart ache all over again. And Mycroft knew, without any doubt, that he needed him. That he loved him too, even if he couldn't say the words. 

“I wouldn’t want you to. I don’t ever want you to make a promise you know you can’t keep. My, I know the job comes first. Probably better than anyone else,” Greg said softly. “But, just try to keep in mind that you do have someone worrying about you at home.” He leaned forward, hand coming around to cup Mycroft’s face. He brushed his thumb over Mycroft’s lips and cheekbone before pressing their lips together. 

Mycroft sighed softly and kissed him back, melting into his touch. “You’re a good man,” he said quietly as Greg pulled back. “When you said you wanted to talk, I was certain that was it for us.”

"We do need to talk, but more because of something I did," Greg said quietly, "I found something in the closet." 

Mycroft studied his face. "What?"

Greg reached down, picking up the box from the floor. "You've never talked about them."

Mycroft swallowed, heart catching. He turned on the end table light. "It's the past. Does it matter?"

"Well you've kept them all this time.. I think it matters a great deal, My. Especially since you haven't told me about them, hidden them away." 

Nodding, Mycroft took the box from him and opened it. "I haven't looked since we became serious."

"My, I'm not upset. Just curious. I promise." Greg shifted up to sit cross legged beside his lover. 

Mycroft looked inside and took out the photo on the top. "This is Erik."

"He looks like a nice guy," Greg replied, leaning to pillow his head on Mycroft’s shoulder. 

"We dated my junior year of uni. Went around the continent the summer after. But we drifted apart in our senior year. He's an artist. Lives in South Africa now with his wife and kids."

“Do you ever talk to him?” Greg asked, stroking Mycroft’s hair. 

"No. His life doesn't need me in it."

"Mm, he doesn't know what he's missing, then. What about the next one?" 

"Raphael." Mycroft took out another photo. "Met him when I was doing work in...an Eastern European country."

The picture showed a swarthy man with dark hair and glittering eyes. "Big white puffy shirt like that, you'd think he was a pirate." Greg remarked.

"That's not so far from the truth. Can't tell you much more. Three very intense months. But we both knew the truth of our situation."

"How did you two end things?" 

"I came back to my flat and found a note under the door." He dug a bit into the box and picked up a faded letter. "I was twenty-four. I like to think I bought him enough time to skip the country. There was much we never told each other. Never found him again after that. He was the first lover I had to hide myself from."

"Oh My..." Greg trailed off, running a hand soothingly over the man's back. "What about the glove?" He asked quietly, nodding his head toward the rich white silk. 

"One night stand. I was thirty-two. He was younger than me, perhaps mid-twenties. It was a formal ball. We hit it off. I found him interesting, perhaps was flattered by his attention. We went to the hotel where I was staying. He was gone in the morning, save the glove. I had to make certain he hadn't stolen anything from me and despite the pleasure I was very careful not to tell him anything. I never knew his name, but I think he was some minor nobility."

"The prince and the politician. How very telling." Greg said, kissing Mycroft's shoulder. 

Mycroft shrugged. He picked up a scrap of poetry. "This one only lasted three days. I cancelled our second date and that was that."

Greg read over the paper, snorting at the terrible lines. "Your eyes are like diamonds in the rough? That's terrible." He looked up smiling at Mycroft. "Anyone with sense could see your eyes are like the sea, deep and unyielding." Greg picked up the box, setting it to the side as he straddled Mycroft lap. "The blue of storm and sky, of starlight on lilies at midnight." He pulled Mycroft toward him for a proper kiss, tongue darting across the man's lips. Mycroft opened and they slide together with a sigh, tasting each other.

"After," Greg panted as they broke apart, "after we go through the last of those mementos. I'm getting the camera. And I'm going to take so many of my own, to show that you and I belong to each other. To show you'll never, ever be alone again." 

"Before you, it had been a decade since my last serious relationship,” Mycroft said, as he picked up some photos of himself with a blond man. There was an Irish setter puppy in some of the pictures and Greg smiled at them. "Frederick took the dog and left after a year and a half. Got tired of the late nights and my work. I didn't blame him."

"That's terrible, Mycroft," Greg murmured, letting their foreheads rest together. "I'm sorry you had to go through all that."

“It is what it is, Gregory. You know what I’m like. The work comes first. Even on anniversaries and birthdays. I’m not angry at him for leaving. He’s done just fine without me. And no, I haven’t kept in touch with him either. After that...I decided being alone was best.” He picked out the flower and held it gently.

"The flower, My?" Greg prompted gently.

“It’s from Frederick. I ruined my anniversary with him in much the same way as I ruined ours tonight. When I finally got home he’d left for the evening. The only thing he’d left was flowers for me. I told him I’d try harder, and I did, but well, as I said I didn’t blame him when he left. Before you, he was the longest relationship I’d had since Erik. I thought maybe...well, it doesn’t matter. He’s had a good life without me.”

Greg plucked the flower from Mycroft's hand, setting it gently back in the box. "I'm very glad at how foolish Fredrick was." Mycroft looked at him, confused. "Because it means that I get to be here, with you, right now. And I can't think of anywhere I'd rather be." 

Mycroft took the lid and put it back on the box, though they hadn’t gone through everything. “It’s my past, Gregory. You’re my future, if you’ll have me.”

"It's funny you should say that." Greg replied. "And maybe I shouldn't do this here or now after we've fought but...will you come with me?" Greg got off the bed, extending his hand to Mycroft. 

Raising an eyebrow, Mycroft took his hand, heart speeding in his chest. He felt raw after the conversation they’d just had. Though these other men were in the past, they were all people he’d cared for. But Greg was here and now, solid. His.

Greg led him down the hallway, back to their bedroom. He gently pushed Mycroft, making him sit on the edge of the bed and then went to rummage in the bedside table. 

Mycroft watched him, then his eyes went wide as Greg knelt in front of him with a box in his hand. “Oh, Gregory.”

"Mycroft Holmes. Despite your job and my job, and your mad brother, despite the late nights and early mornings, despite broken dates and missed dinners, I am deeply and irrevocably in love with you. Everytime I turn around, there is something new about you to discover, and I want that, for the rest of our lives. I want you." Greg looked up into Mycroft's eyes, hand shaking with nerves. "Marry me?" he asked gently.

“Yes.” There was no hesitation. Mycroft knew he wanted no one else. Greg had been the only one mad enough to stay. And every day Mycroft found he needed that more and more. “I...I love you,” he said softly.

Greg's eyes widened as Mycroft finally said the three words he'd been waiting to hear. Greg had been the first to say it, ages ago, but when he had, Mycroft had frozen, unable to speak from shock and perhaps a slight bit of panic. Greg had calmed him down, but Mycroft hadn't returned the sentiment. Greg had known the man loved him, but hearing it from his mouth was heady and overwhelming. "My." Greg rose from the floor, slipping the ring onto his fiance's hand with trembling fingers. 

Mycroft pulled him down for a kiss, grounding himself in the familiar feeling of his lover, _his fiance_. Perhaps it was good they’d had this conversation, that he’d found the buried pieces of his heart and brought them to the light. 

Greg sighed into Mycroft's mouth, breaking away only to climb into the bed next to him. "Mycroft....." 

“Yes?” Mycroft didn’t look down at the ring, he watched Greg’s eyes, still a bit anxious.

"I want you tonight." Greg licked his lips as Mycroft's eyes grew dark. "I want you forever." 

"Yes. As long as you'll have me." Mycroft lay back on the bed and touched his hip. "Only you."

"Say it again." Greg murmured, crawling over to straddle Mycroft's hips. 

“I am yours, Gregory Lestrade.” Mycroft ground up against him. Greg’s weight on him was solid, perfect. He rested his hands on Greg’s thighs, watching and waiting.

"And I am yours, Mycroft Holmes," Greg breathed, dipping down for a kiss. "Always yours."

Mycroft ran his hands up Greg's back and under the thin shirt he was wearing. Perhaps he could make up the missed evening some other way. 

Greg nodded at his actions, his own hands mirroring Mycroft's slow slide under the man's vest as they kissed.

Opening his mouth, Mycroft welcomed him in, sighing contentedly at the touch and slide of tongue against his own. 

They broke apart, and Greg allowed his shirt to be pulled off, baring his chest. He repeated the action on Mycroft, the man's hands lifting above his head to allow the removal. Greg gave a chuckle, pressing a kiss to the center of Mycroft's chest, just above his heart. "This is mine." 

"You are terribly romantic, you know," teased Mycroft. "And it's one of my favorite things about you."

"Mhmmm. I am, and it's a good thing you like it, cause you're stuck with me for good now." Greg replied, pulling Mycroft’s hand to his lips. He pressed a kiss over the ring and then turned it so he could press a gentle kiss to the center of Mycroft's palm 

Mycroft smiled and looked down at the ring. He gave a little gasp. "Really?" It had both their birthstones set into it. It wasn't flashy, but it was solid. Much like his lover.

“You must have been truly surprised. I can’t believe you didn’t figure out I was going to propose,” Greg chuckled, hands going to Mycroft’s waistband and slipping under. 

"There's been a lot on my plate of late," Mycroft admitted, lifting his hips for him. "But things should be better for a while."

“Good,” Greg sighed, dragging the clothes down over Mycroft’s legs. 

Breathing hard, Mycroft spread himself for his lover, running his hands down his own thighs. 

"You...you take my breath away, Mycroft," Greg murmured in disbelief, leaning down. He ran his nose up Mycroft's bare thigh, nuzzling into the red curls at his groin.

Mycroft ran a hand through his hair. "There is no one I trust more." He hoped Greg knew all that that meant. 

"I know." Greg paused his movements, meeting Mycroft's eyes. "I know." 

Mycroft surged down and kissed him, dragging his fingers through Greg's hair. Here, with him, he was safe, he was loved and if the world too often tried to intrude on them, at least Greg had sworn he would always be here. Now, he had even asked to seal that promise. It was everything Mycroft had never thought he'd have.

Greg gasped as Mycroft seized his mouth, tugging him by the hair to lay over him. He yanked at the band of his pants, doing his best to slide the fabric away from his throbbing cock. 

Mycroft groaned, sliding their erections together as he rolled Greg onto his back. He nipped at Greg's lower lip before reaching for the lube. He coated his fingers and started working himself open, making a show of it for his lover, head thrown back in the warm light. 

Greg watched, hardly able to breath as Mycroft writhed on his own fingers. His hand made its way to his cock, stroking slowly as his lover let out soft gasps of pleasure.

"My Gregory," he breathed, heated eyes looking into the the dark brown pools of Greg's eyes. 

Greg kissed Mycroft deeply, mouth warm and desperate. 

Mycroft shuffled around to guide Greg's cock inside, moaning as he slid down.

Greg gasped as Mycroft enveloped him, the warm, slick heat of his body like air to a drowning man. All too necessary, and all too overwhelming at the same time.

Mycroft braced himself on Greg's chest, eyes falling closed.

Greg thrust his hips up, as Mycroft dug his nails into his chest, groaning. 

This was just where Mycroft needed to be. Here and now. He rode Greg harder, needing, focusing on the pleasure for both of them.

Greg could feel himself getting close, his body tightening, balls drawing close to his body.  
"My, I'm going to come." 

"Me too, please, get me there." 

Greg groaned at Mycroft's plea, working his hips as the man rode him.

Mycroft grabbed his own cock with a groan, leaning over Greg. 

“God, Mycroft, please.” 

"Please what?" He loved the sound of Greg's voice gone rough. 

“Come, Jesus, just come.” Greg tossed his head, back arching from the mattress. 

Mycroft squeezed around him, feeling Greg climax a heartbeat before he followed him over. 

Greg cried out as he came, Mycroft right behind him, come splattering over his chest and belly. 

Mycroft curled on his chest, for once not minding the mess. "Any other questions?”

“Mmm. Just one.” Greg sighed, wrapping his arms around the man. “When are you going to tell Sherlock?”

“He’ll deduce within two days.”


End file.
